Ainz's room was filled with exquisite furniture, while the floor was laid with a bright red carpet. This vast room was usually draped in a thin veil of silence, and today it was even more quiet than normal. The maid who normally attended him here was nowhere to be seen. The only people here were Ainz and his sword-bearing Death Knight in the corner.
Albedo spoke in a soft, syrupy sweet voice, as though trying to preserve the silence of the room:
"I have a report to deliver. The commander of the Slaine Theocracy's Sunlight Scripture as well as the soldier who we captured has been incarcerated in the Frozen Prison. We will extract information from him with the help of the Special Intelligence-Gathering Officer."
"If it's Neuronist, there shouldn't be any problems. However, I want to conduct experiments on the bodies… do you know anything about this?"
"Understood. In addition, we are currently looking through the arms and armor recovered from the men dressed as knights. They do not bear any major enchantments and will be sent to the Treasury after the investigations are concluded, however we did retrieve a summon item from the commander of the Sunlight Scripture"
She then presented a glowing crystal to Ainz, its surface pulsing with faint golden light, as though it held something alive within. Ainz extended his bony hand, the faint glimmer of his crimson eyes narrowing as he turned it over, studying the facets.
Yet, no matter how carefully he examined it, the truth eluded him. The familiar comfort of system menus, interfaces, and tooltips—all of which would have revealed its tier, function, and summoning ability back in YGGDRASIL—were gone. In this new world, he had no such luxuries.
To him, it was nothing more than an unfamiliar magical item, dangerous in its mystery.
Except—there was still one option.
Ainz closed his fingers around the crystal, his mind immediately going to the Guardian of the Treasury… his own creation, the one designed for matters such as these.
Pandora's Actor.
If anyone could unravel the nature of this strange summoning crystal, it would be him.
(I must consult Pandora's Actor. This crystal could be a relic of the highest tier—or worthless trinket. Without YGGDRASIL's interface, I cannot be certain. For Nazarick's sake, I will leave nothing to chance.)
"Finally, I plan to have two Shadow Demons keep an eye on the village. Then, what should we do about Gazef Stronoff?"
"Leave the Warrior-Captain be for now. It is more important that we build a good relationship with that village. We might need their help in future, so avoid antagonizing them. and gather all the floor guardian to the throne room,"
"Understood. I will take care of it. Thus ends the report."
///
Using the Ring of Ainz Ooal Gown, he appeared within the Great Treasury of Nazarick. Mountains of gold, jewels, rare artifacts, and treasures of untold value glittered beneath the faint magical light, wealth so vast it would drive any human king to madness with desire.
But Ainz paid them no mind. Riches were meaningless compared to the true purpose of this place.
His gaze shifted to the pitch-black wall at the chamber's far end. Straightening his posture, he stepped forward and spoke the words etched into his memory:
"Glory to Ainz Ooal Gown."
The wall shimmered, and glowing runes spread across its surface. A prompt manifested, urging him to continue the ancient sequence.
Ainz's hollow voice echoed through the treasury, solemn and heavy with authority:
"By this means, you will acquire the glory of the whole world… right?"
The wall pulsed with light, and disappeared revealing a long tunnel.
As Ainz reached the end of the corridor, the faint murmur of voices reached his ears. Stepping into the chamber, the scene unfolded before him: a simple room furnished with only three couches arranged around a coffee table at its center.
On one couch, Sans the skeleton was sprawled out, hood drawn low, snoring softly—clearly asleep on the job. Across from him, a spider-like woman sipped tea with refined elegance, her many eyes half-lidded in amusement. At her feet knelt a 'person?' wearing a brown Germanic outfit , coat spread out dramatically on the floor as he begged in his thick German accent for her favor.
The contrast of the mundane setting and the bizarre scene left Ainz momentarily silent, crimson eyes narrowing as he tried to process what exactly he had just walked into.
Pandora's Actor dropped to one knee before her, his gloved hands clasped tightly together as he bent forward in a dramatic plea. His voice carried its usual theatrical German accent, though now laced with desperation.
"Bitte, Fräulein Muffet! At least allow me to clean ze treasures in your spider cave!"
His head lowered further until he was nearly bowing at her feet, his cape pooling across the floor as if to emphasize his sincerity.
"For the last time, deary, you can't touch the produce. If you do, the prices will drop~" Muffet chimed sweetly, her many arms gracefully balancing a teacup and saucer as she looked down at Pandora's Actor with a mischievous smile. Her voice was playful, but the sharp edge beneath it left no room for argument.
However, just as German prepared to beg even further, the sound of a yawn broke the moment. Sans shifted lazily on the couch, tugging his hood back just enough to reveal his glowing eye before glancing toward the entrance.
"Sup, boss. Didn't see you there," he said casually, as if nothing were out of place.
Ainz stood at the doorway, silent but clearly amused by the bizarre scene that had unfolded before him.
The lighthearted air vanished instantly. Both the Area Guardian and the Guardian of the Treasury straightened themselves in a rush, turning sharply toward their master.
Muffet curtsied gracefully, her many hands folding together as she smiled sweetly.
"Ahh~ welcome, Lord Momonga~ would you care for some tea and a little snack, deary?"
The Spider Queen, Muffet, serves as an Area Guardian on the 8th Floor's underground section. Originally designed as a trap-type NPC, she guards a bait chamber where rare artifacts are deliberately placed to lure intruders toward her first. Over time, she was converted into a full-fledged Area Boss.
Her combat style embodies the principle of "carrot and stick." Should an intruder offer her sufficient treasure or gold, she grants them safe passage through her domain. However, those who refuse her demands are immediately ensnared within her web of traps. She wields a collection of artifacts and debilitating items designed to inflict debuffs, gradually chipping away at the victim's HP until they are rendered helpless.
and the other one is pandoras actor
"Thank you for coming all this way." He tapped his heels together, straightened his posture, and gave a crisp salute, his eccentric, theatrical voice carrying through the hall.
Ainz's gaze fell on Pandora's Actor, his sole creation. Dressed in an eccentric military uniform, he clicked his heels and saluted with theatrical flourish.
"Mein creator, Lord Momonga!" he declared in his strange, exaggerated voice.
Ainz felt the usual mix of pride and embarrassment—his design was as overblown as ever. Yet behind that flamboyance stood the guardian of the Treasury, a shapeshifter of unmatched value.
Even so, seeing him bow so earnestly, Ainz could not help but acknowledge him with silent respect.
Ainz, still unsettled by Pandora's Actor's eccentric salute and booming tone, stuttered slightly, "Y-You look well."
"Jawohl! I am doing quite well!" Pandora's Actor declared proudly, his posture straight and his chest puffed out. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he placed a hand over his chest and bowed deeply. "And so, mein creator, what is your business here this time?"
"I have come to seek your expertise in this." Ainz extended his hand, revealing the crystal he had brought, its glow pulsing faintly in the dim light.
Pandora's Actor carefully took the crystal with gloved hands, turning it this way and that under the light as his eyes gleamed with analytical focus. While his creation busied himself with inspection, Ainz's gaze wandered across the room. There, to his mild surprise, he noticed Sans lounging on a couch, lazily sipping from a bottle of ketchup, while Muffet sat gracefully nearby, sipping her tea as if nothing in the world were amiss.
Ainz's empty sockets lingered on Sans, watching the skeleton tilt back the bottle and drink as though it were the most natural thing in the world. A strange question surfaced within his mind—one that tugged at his curiosity more than he cared to admit.
How… can a skeleton drink?
The thought unsettled him further when he considered himself. If Sans could consume food despite lacking organs, then… could he? Was there something he had overlooked about his own form? The idea planted a peculiar mix of curiosity and unease in the depths of his mind.
Ainz, unable to contain his curiosity, approached Sans. His voice carried both authority and a rare trace of hesitation.
"Sans… tell me, how is it that you, a skeleton, are able to eat?"
Sans cracked open one eye, lazy grin still on his face. "heh, simple, boss. i don't eat the way humans do. i feel the food with magic… then turn it into magic energy. keeps me goin', y'know?"
Ainz's hollow chest stirred with something he had long buried. Excitement. Longing. The memory of sitting at a table with his guildmates, laughing, eating, sharing moments that would never return.
"So… it is possible…" his tone betrayed a rare spark of hope. He straightened, skeletal fingers trembling ever so slightly. "Sans, would you—no, could you teach me how? To experience… eating again?"
For a fleeting moment, Ainz was not the Supreme Ruler of Nazarick, but simply Suzuki Satoru—a man who longed for the smallest joys of life. He liked that feeling. The crushing weight of being worshiped as an absolute being was suffocating, and deep down, he yearned to be treated as just another person.
And now, he realized, Sans was the only one among the Guardians who gave him that. No blind reverence, no suffocating praise—just a casual "boss." Strangely enough… that was more comforting than divine adoration could ever be.
"sure thing boss, first thing you gonna need to do is control your magic"
"control my magic? elaborate"
Sans leaned back on the couch, lazily twirling the ketchup bottle in his hand.
"heh… y'know, boss, magic in the game an' magic here? totally different ballpark. back there, it was just buttons, menus, spell lists—your character did the work for ya. but now? no menus, no shortcuts. it's all real. the magic comes from you—your will, what you understand, what you mean. so if you wanna pull it off, ya gotta feel it, not just click it."
Sans set the bottle of ketchup down on the table, his grin fading into something rare—a serious, steady expression. His hollow eyes seemed to glow faintly as he leaned forward, voice low but firm.
"alright, listen close, boss. this ain't like back in the game where ya just pick a spell and fire it off. magic here… it's alive. it's not just numbers or cooldowns—it's tied to who you are, what you feel, what you understand."
He tapped a bony finger against his chest.
"mana? think of it like breathin'. you don't force every breath, you just… let it flow. same with magic. first, ya gotta feel it. close your eyes, listen to yourself—there's a current inside you, a pool of energy that's always there. that's your mana. don't treat it like some bar on a screen. treat it like part of your body."
Sans raised his hand, and a faint blue glow flickered around his fingers.
"once ya find that flow, ya gotta learn to control it. don't just dump it out in a spell. shape it. guide it. like flexin' a muscle you never used before. at first it's clumsy, yeah, but the more you practice, the more natural it gets. eventually, you're not just 'casting' magic—you're wielding it."
He leaned back again, his grin returning, though softer this time.
"so, boss, if you wanna eat again, or feel again, or even just enjoy somethin' normal… you gotta start by understandin' that mana ain't a tool. it's you. and once ya figure that out? heh, then the real fun begins."
Ainz's eyes glowed faintly as he watched Sans speak with such clarity. It was baffling—no, it was impossible. NPCs were creations of the Supreme Beings, bound by their settings and limitations. They shouldn't remember Yggdrasil as a game, nor should they speak of mechanics, cooldowns, or player experience. And yet, here was Sans, casually explaining the difference between the old game magic and this new world's living mana, as though he were not a servant of Nazarick, but a fellow player.
How… how can he know this? Ainz thought, his skeletal jaw tightening. Pandora's Actor can theorize, Demiurge can analyze, Albedo can scheme—but none of them ever once hinted at knowledge of Yggdrasil as a game. Only Sans… this skeleton, a Guardian born from our own hands, talks like he knows both sides of the veil.
The thought was unsettling, but also awe-inspiring. Ainz could feel the weight of it pressing down on him. If Sans truly understood the difference between the old and the new, if he could teach others to feel mana instead of just casting from a list, then his value to Nazarick was immeasurable.
"Sans…" Ainz finally said, his voice deep and heavy. "Your… awareness exceeds even my expectations. You speak as if you were not crafted, but… born."
Sans only gave that lazy grin of his, tilting the ketchup bottle in a mock toast. "heh. maybe i was just made a little different, boss. maybe i see things others don't. either way… i'm here now. and if ya wanna learn, i'll teach."
Ainz felt something stir within him—an echo of the old days, when he had been just Suzuki Satoru, learning, discovering, growing. This strange, impossible skeleton was offering him not just guidance, but hope.
"As appreciation for your teaching, I will grant you one thing. What do you want, Sans?"
The skeleton tilted his head, silent for a long moment. His single glowing eye flickered faintly before fading back to its usual dimness.
"…nah, i'm fine. but—" Sans finally spoke, his voice low and almost casual, though the weight behind it was unmistakable. "since you're askin'… mind if i cash in a favor sometime down the road?"
Ainz's crimson orbs narrowed slightly within his skull. The request was vague, dangerous in its open-ended nature, and yet… something about Sans' tone carried no malice, only a quiet honesty.
"Very well," Ainz said after a pause, his voice resonating through the throne room. "When that day comes, I shall listen. But remember, Sans—such a privilege is not given lightly."
"Heh. wouldn't dream of abusin' it, boss." Sans smirked faintly, hands sinking back into his pockets as if the conversation had been nothing more than small talk.
Yet in the back of Ainz's mind, a single thought lingered: What kind of favor could he possibly ask of me…?
After Pandora's Actor revealed his findings—that the crystal only contained a 7th-tier summoning—Ainz straightened on the throne, his crimson eyes narrowing in thought. This was significant, but far from the ultimate treasure he had hoped for.
The great doors of the Throne Room loomed behind him as Ainz sat upon the majestic Throne of Kings. The dim glow of the enchanted braziers reflected off his skeletal form, bathing the hall in an aura of authority. His crimson orbs swept across the chamber before finally settling on the figure kneeling at his side.
"Albedo," Ainz intoned, his voice calm yet absolute, echoing through the vast room like a decree carved into stone.
The Overseer of the Floor Guardians bowed her head deeply, her wings folding with reverence. "Yes, Lord Ainz."
"Summon all Guardians to the Throne Room," he commanded, each word weighted with power. A slight pause followed before he added, "Include Pandora's Actor as well."
Albedo's golden eyes gleamed with pride at being entrusted with his will. She placed a hand over her chest, her voice resolute yet touched with devotion.
"As you command, my Lord. I shall ensure your order is carried out without delay."
With that, she rose gracefully, her steps echoing across the chamber as she moved to fulfill his command, leaving Ainz alone upon his throne—silent, regal, and already preparing for the matters that would soon follow.
Within moments, the Guardians began to assemble. One by one, they entered the grand chamber: the Floor Guardians in their imposing forms, the Pleiades in perfect formation. Pandora's Actor arrived with his theatrical flourish, bowing deeply before the Overlord.
Ainz regarded them all silently for a moment. This was not merely a meeting—it was a council of Nazarick's mightiest, assembled to assess a potentially dangerous artifact. Even the usually unpredictable Sans had taken a seat nearby, quietly observing the scene with his usual nonchalance.
The Guardians had assembled in the throne room, each kneeling in reverence before their master. The vast chamber was silent, only the faint hum of magical energy lingering in the air. Seated upon the Throne of Kings, Ainz raised his bony hand, crimson light burning within his eye sockets as his voice cut through the silence.
"Now," Ainz began, the words resonating across the hall like a commandment, "let us discuss the implications of this discovery and determine the proper course of action…" His tone paused, deliberate, drawing every Guardian's attention tighter around him. "However, before that—"
He extended one skeletal finger toward the great flag of Nazarick that stood proudly to his side. His voice deepened as he uttered:
"—[Greater Breaker]—"
The flag ignited instantly, crimson flames devouring its fabric, until nothing but ashes scattered into the air. The Guardians gasped in unison, their expressions a mixture of shock and awe, though none dared to speak.
The throne room was filled with an almost divine stillness, the embers of the burning flag drifting into nothing. Ainz's voice cut through the silence, heavy with authority:
"From this moment onward… my name shall be Ainz Ooal Gown. You shall call me Ainz. If any object—speak now."
No voices rose against him. Instead, one after another, his Guardians pledged themselves.
Albedo pressed her forehead low."Your name is my everything, my lord. I exist only to serve you."
Demiurge bowed with a sharp smile."Your will is law. Nothing else matters."
Shalltear's eyes glowed with fervor."My loyalty is eternal. None shall question it."
Cocytus lowered his head, his icy tone steady."My strength, my life, all are yours."
Aura and Mare both spoke together, youthful yet resolute."We'll follow you always, Lord Ainz."
Pandora's Actor saluted crisply."My existence is but to honor you."
Even Victim gave silent resonance, an echo of submission.
Finally, Sans let out a soft chuckle, hands in his pockets."heh… no need to say much. i'm with ya, boss."
Their voices overlapped into one, filling the chamber with a single cry that shook the air itself:
"Hail Lord Ainz Ooal Gown!"
♦ ♦ ♦'
Sans stood at the edge of the 8th Floor's underground waterfall, the soft echo of cascading water filling the cavern. His mind replayed the events of the previous day—Frisk had nearly died while he was distracted, and the memory gnawed at him. After a long moment of reflection, he straightened himself, resolving to never let such carelessness happen again.
Slowly, he shifted into his other form, the three wings sprouting from his back, their glow shimmering faintly in the dim light. With a calm breath, he entered his mindscape, the world around him fading into a surreal expanse.
As soon as he arrived, a familiar figure appeared—Chara, standing silently, eyes fixed on him with that unsettling, knowing gaze.
"look whose here," Chara said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of their lips, and Sans felt the weight of unspoken words hang in the air.
"heh… figures you'd be here, chara."
Sans' sockets flickered faintly as he finally broke the silence.
"how are they?"
Chara's form shifted, their voice carrying an odd mix of cold clarity and faint warmth."Stable, for now. Remember, Sans, souls are fragile. An injury to one can linger forever—or fade, depending on the intent behind it. Frisk is lucky… the strike wasn't aimed directly at them."
Sans lowered his gaze, hands sinking deeper into his hoodie pocket."…i know." His voice was low, quiet. "still… doesn't make it any easier to watch."
"you wanna check on them?"
Sans' gaze lingered on the children's laughter, but it felt distant—hollow. His grin faltered, and for a brief second his sockets dipped to the ground. That creeping guilt twisted in his chest like a knife.
"…no… not right now, Chara." His voice was low, heavy, almost trembling. "i screwed up. almost cost Frisk everything 'cause i let my guard down… 'cause i was distracted."
Chara tilted their head, eyes narrowing with something between sympathy and steel. "Keeping quiet about it? That won't make the weight go away, Sans. You know it better than anyone. Sooner or later… you'll need to talk to someone."
Sans let out a shaky chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as though trying to shrug off a burden that refused to move. "…heh. guess i ain't great at that sorta thing. easier t' just… smile, crack a joke, pretend it don't hurt."
"imma head out now i have thing to do"
"like what… sleeping?" Chara's voice teased, sharp but not unkind.
Sans just let out a soft chuckle, shoulders slouching as he slowly walked toward the pull of the real world. The dreamlike hum of his mindscape began to fade, replaced by the steady rhythm of dripping water echoing through the cavern now back to his smaller form.
As he surfaced back into reality, faint voices brushed against his hearing—distant, scattered, like ghosts carried on the current. His gaze followed the sound until he spotted it: an echo flower, glowing faintly by the underground waterfall.
He approached, hands stuffed in his pockets, and leaned down slightly. The blue petals quivered, and then—
"COCYTUS, I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!"
The words rang out, bouncing against the cavern walls with booming clarity. Sans blinked, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in amusement.
"…heh. guess the bugs 'round here got a taste for drama."
///
Sans wandered the marble corridors until the sound of steel and battle cries grew louder. His feet carried him to a wide balcony that overlooked the colosseum of the 6th Floor—a vast arena of stone and ice surrounded by towering walls and lit by the illusion of a clear, eternal sky. From his vantage point on the upper deck, he leaned against the railing, hoodie pulled up just enough to shadow his grin.
Below, the clash unfolded in full fury.
Cocytus stood tall at the center of the colosseum, his icy breath swirling in the air with each exhale. The frozen ground beneath his feet cracked as he shifted his weight, both of his lower arms folded firmly against his armored chest while only his upper right hand gripped a single weapon—his <
The massive polearm gleamed with a chilling aura, its blade radiating a cold mist that trailed behind every swing. Despite his many arms, Cocytus had chosen to fight with restraint, focusing all of his power and technique into this single weapon. Each strike was deliberate, precise, and heavy enough to shake the arena floor.
The halberd cut through the air with a whistle, shards of frost forming in its wake before exploding into icy fragments when the blade met Undyne's radiant <
Undyne met Cocytus's halberd head-on, her stance fierce and unyielding. The Spear of Justice blazed in her hands, its golden tip burning with a brilliance that seemed to challenge the icy mist pouring from Cocytus's strikes. Unlike the measured, disciplined rhythm of Cocytus, Undyne's style was raw, explosive, and unrelenting.
She fought with the ferocity of a storm—each thrust of her spear like a lightning bolt, sharp and direct, aiming to pierce through the layers of Cocytus's defense. At times, she summoned spectral spears that rained down around her opponent, filling the arena with a dazzling storm of weapons. Where Cocytus stood like an immovable glacier, Undyne pressed forward with the relentless tide of a crashing sea.
The contrast between them was stark: Cocytus, calm and methodical, pouring all of his technique into the singular mastery of his halberd; Undyne, fierce and burning with passion, her spearwork overflowing with emotion and willpower.
Above, on the balcony, Sans observed silently, his glowing eye flickering faintly. He knew—this wasn't just a spar. It was a clash of ideals: icebound discipline against fiery determination
Cocytus gripped his Decapitation Fang Halberd firmly, the weapon an extension of his will. He opened with a sweeping arc—Glacial Cleave—a wide, freezing strike that sent shards of ice scattering across the stone floor. His movements were deliberate, every swing calculated to control space and force his opponent into disadvantage. When Undyne closed the gap, he shifted seamlessly into Frozen Guard, the halberd's haft twisting to deflect her spear thrusts with mechanical precision, his defense as unyielding as a wall of ice.
Undyne met him head-on with the blazing Spear of Justice, refusing to yield an inch. Her weapon moved in sharp bursts, each thrust a demonstration of her signature technique—Piercing Justice, strikes aimed to overwhelm with speed and power, targeting weak points in Cocytus's defense. When Cocytus's icy halberd swings threatened to overtake her, she called upon Justice Storm, conjuring multiple spectral spears that spun around her before shooting forward in a volley, each one striking with explosive force.
Cocytus weathered the assault with stoic grace. He spun his halberd in a fluid counter, channeling Blizzard Spiral, a whirling maneuver that shattered the incoming phantom spears mid-air, leaving trails of frost in its wake. He pressed forward with Absolute Cold Thrust, a direct, chilling lunge of his halberd's tip, each stab capable of freezing flesh and steel on contact.
But Undyne's fire never dimmed. She caught his thrust on her spear's shaft, teeth gritted, before unleashing Tidal Crash—a rushing forward charge that slammed into Cocytus with sheer force, her golden spear crackling as if infused with the roar of a raging sea.
The clash was a battle of discipline versus instinct, ice versus fire, order versus chaos. From the balcony above, Sans leaned lazily on the railing, one hand resting on a conjured bone weapon. His eye socket glowed faintly as he watched the exchange.
"heh… talk about a cold war," he muttered under his breath, though he didn't miss a single movement.
The battle raged on, their weapons clashing in a storm of sparks, frost, and raw willpower. Cocytus never faltered—his discipline was absolute, each halberd movement a masterclass of reach, timing, and power. Undyne, by contrast, fought with the reckless ferocity of someone who lived for the fight, every strike of her Spear of Justice driven by sheer determination.
"HRRAAAAHHH!" she roared, summoning a final storm of spectral lances—Justice Barrage—that rained down upon Cocytus in a dazzling golden cascade. The colosseum shook with their impact, the air filled with blinding light.
When the dust cleared, Cocytus stood unmoved. His halberd spun in his four hands, ice creeping along the ground in jagged cracks. With a thunderous step forward, he executed Frozen Dominion—a sweeping strike infused with his chilling aura. The halberd tore through the spectral spears like brittle glass, the wave of frost engulfing Undyne before she could dodge.
Her body locked for a split second, slowed by the numbing cold. Cocytus capitalized instantly, surging forward in a blur that belied his massive frame.
"ABSOLUTE COLD THRUST!" he bellowed.
The halberd's tip struck her square in the chest, not piercing, but hitting with crushing force and an explosion of freezing mist. Undyne staggered back, her knees buckling. Her spear slipped from her fingers and clattered across the arena floor.
She gasped, fighting to stay upright, frost spreading over her armor, her breath visible in the air. "D…damn… you're good…" she muttered through clenched teeth before finally collapsing onto one knee, then the ground.
Cocytus lowered his weapon, his breath steady, the frost receding as he retracted his aura. He gave her a small, respectful nod."YOU… FOUGHT WELL. FEW CAN WITHSTAND MY HALBERD FOR SO LONG."
From the balcony above, Sans whistled low, leaning against the railing with his glowing eye flickering faintly. "welp… guess that's game. tough break, undyne."
The colosseum fell silent, save for the echo of Cocytus's heavy steps as he stood victorious.
Cocytus stood over Undyne's fallen form, the halberd planted firmly into the ground beside him. His crystalline breath fogged the air, the aura of frost beginning to fade. He gazed down at her, not with scorn, but with a warrior's respect.
Slowly, he extended one of his massive clawed hands toward her."STAND, UNDYN-E. YOUR COURAGE IS WORTHY OF HONOR. YOU HAVE EARNED A WARRIOR'S RESPECT."
Undyne groaned, frost still clinging to her armor, but her fiery spirit hadn't dimmed. With a grin—half pride, half stubborn defiance—she reached up and grabbed Cocytus's hand. He pulled her to her feet in one smooth, powerful motion.
"Hah… damn," she coughed, smirking despite the pain. "You hit like a mountain. No wonder you're their top warrior."
Cocytus inclined his head. "YOUR SPEAR… YOUR SPIRIT… IT BURNED BRIGHT. EVEN THE COLD COULD NOT DIM IT. YOU HAVE MY RESPECT, UNDYN-E."
From above, Sans watched the exchange, his grin softer than usual, though his sockets still glowed faintly with curiosity."heh… look at that. the big guy's got manners after all. not bad, undyne. not bad."
The crowd of homunculus maids and summoned beasts that had gathered to spectate erupted into applause and cheers. The clash had been one of raw might against unyielding will, and though Cocytus stood the victor, Undyne's determination had won their admiration as well.
Cocytus released her hand and stepped back, raising his halberd in salute. Undyne mirrored the gesture with her recovered Spear of Justice, a mutual recognition between warriors who lived and breathed combat.
In that frozen arena of the 6th Floor, a bond was forged—not through words, but through steel.
"guess fun's over"
Sans leaned lazily against the stone wall as the familiar blue flash of his teleport faded. His sockets adjusted to the dim, web-laced cavern, the air thick with the faint sweetness of baked goods and the ever-present scent of damp earth. A delicate little table sat in the center of the spider cave, draped in silken cloth and surrounded by three figures.
Muffet, her six arms gracefully pouring tea from a porcelain pot, hummed cheerfully as she set down a tray of fresh pastries. Across from her, Kyouhukou, the regal cockroach prince of Nazarick, sat perfectly still, his long antennae twitching as he held his teacup with unnatural precision. Beside him, Entoma delicately nibbled at a macaron, her insectoid mandibles clicking faintly behind the illusion of her girl-like appearance.
"Such a lovely aroma, dear Muffet," Kyouhukou spoke, his voice calm yet carrying a strange, commanding undertone. "Your skill with brewing rivals even the finest alchemists."
"Hee-hee~ Such a charmer you are~" Muffet giggled, covering her mouth with one hand while sliding another plate of spider-silk-woven cookies toward Entoma. "Care for more, sweetie? I baked them special with a touch of honey~"
Entoma's muffled voice chirped out, "Mm… tasty… crunchy, but sweet… thank you."
Sans just stood there, hands in his hoodie pocket, watching the odd scene unfold. A spider monster, a cockroach noble, and an insectoid assassin having a tea party like it was the most natural thing in the world. He let out a soft chuckle.
"heh. guess i crashed the bug club meeting. hope you saved me a seat."
Three pairs of eyes—or in Entoma's case, several glimmers of compound sight—shifted toward him. Muffet brightened with a mischievous smile.
"Well, well, look who's wandered into my web~ Care for a cup, dearie? I promise it won't bite… too hard~"
Entoma tilted her head curiously, antennae twitching. "Sans… join…?"
Kyouhukou adjusted his teacup, his insectile face unreadable but his tone polite. "An unexpected guest… yet one whose presence is not unwelcome. Please, take a seat. Even warriors and guardians need moments of… refinement."
Sans gave his trademark shrug. "don't mind if i do. long day, might as well kick back."
With a lazy snap of his fingers, a chair of bone formed behind him. He dropped into it, leaning back comfortably as Muffet poured him a steaming cup. The faintly sweet scent wafted up, and for a moment, the usually chaotic halls of Nazarick felt oddly… peaceful, a peaceful place that a certain overlord would like.
In the dark cemetery, a figure in black armor stood with two swords drawn, facing a blonde assassin crouched low, her stilettos ready and aura shimmering from her buff. She tensed, preparing to pounce, while he remained calm, waiting for her move.
♦ ♦ ♦
The Judgement Hall grew even quieter, the echo of Gaster's warped voice hanging in the still air.The melting figure's eyesockets flickered faintly, shards of white glow peering at Sans like pieces of a broken mirror.
"Gaster… created me to be a replica of himself," the being rasped, its words slurring as if dripping from its own body. "But he failed. I was… left unfinished. Cast aside… and buried within your shadow."
It leaned forward, its distorted outline stretching unnaturally along the marble floor until it nearly touched Sans's feet.
"Have you ever wondered," the figure whispered, "why you adapt so quickly in a fight? Why your body reacts, even when you're not trained in melee combat?"
Sans's eyelights narrowed, the faint glow in his sockets sharpening. His usual grin stayed, but it was tight, strained.
"…you're sayin' that wasn't me?"
The shadow laughed, a wet, broken sound.
"That was me. I analyze, I calculate, I move your body when you hesitate. Every parry, every sidestep, every strike with your bones… I was there, guiding you. Not because you asked. But because I was bound to you. I am your hidden instinct. Your fighting edge. The piece of Gaster's genius stitched into you, wearing the skin of failure."
It straightened, the dripping shadow rippling like tar, its fractured grin eerily mirroring Sans's own.
"You think you survived on wit and shortcuts. But in every melee, in every clash where death should have claimed you… it was me."
The words sank heavy into the hall, the truth—or perhaps a manipulation—settling over Sans like chains.
The hall grew colder, the silence between Sans and the dripping shadow heavy enough to crush the air.
Sans tilted his head down, his grin all but gone, eyes half-lidded as if he wanted to deny it—but deep in his sockets, the faintest flicker of doubt burned.
"…so you're sayin'…" his voice was quiet, unusually so, "…i've never really been fightin' alone?"
The shadow chuckled, the sound like bones scraping tar.
"You can deny me, Sans. But you've felt it, haven't you? The way your bones strike with precision you never practiced. The way your feet move before you even think. That isn't instinct. That's me."
Sans closed his eyes for a moment, shoulders sinking. When he opened them again, the familiar blue glow shone from one socket, the hall suddenly tense.
"…heh. guess that explains a lot." He looked at the shadow fully now, the sharp edge of his voice cutting through the gloom. "…but don't think for a second i'm lettin' you take the credit for everything i've done. you might've been ridin' along, pal, but i was the one who stood my ground."
The shadow's grin widened, dripping like wax. "Then perhaps… we are two halves of one whole. Without me, you falter in combat. Without you, I am nothing but a ghost left unfinished. Whether you accept me or not, Sans… you and I are bound."
The Judgement Hall shook faintly, as if the stone itself was listening.
Sans stood silent, his hands buried deeper into his hoodie pockets. "…bound, huh?" His gaze sharpened, though his voice stayed flat. "…then i'll decide whether you're a curse… or somethin' useful."
The shadow tilted its head, sinking back into Sans's form like ink disappearing into water—its voice lingering.
"Sooner or later… you will need me."
And then silence. Only Sans remained, standing alone in the vast emptiness of the hall.
♦ ♦ ♦
Sans lay sprawled across the soft golden flowers of the Ruins, hands folded behind his skull, eyes half-closed as though the world itself could wait. The stillness was broken by a faint ripple in the air—like a voice carried through space itself.
"Sans," came Albedo's rich, commanding tone, her words echoing like velvet through his mind. "I wish for you to meet me. Come at once."
Sans opened one eye, the corner of his grin twitching. "…heh. figures." He let the silence hang for a beat, then pushed himself upright, brushing stray petals from his hoodie.
The flowers rustled as he stood, his gaze drifting toward the dark passageways of Nazarick that seemed to pulse faintly in response to Albedo's call.
"…guess nap time's over," he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets as the air around him shimmered. A moment later, his form blinked out of the flower bed, leaving only the faint depression of his lazy rest behind.
When he reappeared, he was no longer among flowers but within the cold grandeur of Nazarick, the summons of the Overseer still echoing in his mind.
Sans stepped out of the shimmer of his teleport, the familiar halls of Nazarick closing in around him. The grand chamber was silent save for the slow, deliberate echo of heels against marble. Albedo stood before him, wings unfurled in agitation, her golden eyes gleaming with something sharp and dangerous.
"Sans," she said, her tone clipped but heavy with authority. "I did not summon you lightly. There is urgent news."
Sans tilted his head, one eye glowing faintly, his hands still buried in his hoodie pocket. "…what's up?"
Albedo's gaze hardened. "Shalltear Bloodfallen has betrayed Nazarick. She stands against Lord Ainz. As Overseer, it is my duty to ensure her end. You are one of Nazarick's strongest duelists, one who could rival even Rubedo in single combat. Therefore, I command you: destroy Shalltear."
The words hit like a stone in the still air.
Sans blinked, his grin faltering for the first time. "…wait. what?" His voice, usually dripping with lazy amusement, carried an edge of disbelief. His gaze dropped, shadows gathering at his feet as his mind spun.
Albedo's tone brooked no argument. "Do not hesitate. This is Lord Ainz's will. You will carry it out."
Sans stared at her, silent for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether this was some kind of cruel joke. His sockets darkened, a faint glimmer of unease flickering within.
"…you're telling me… to kill one of us?" he muttered, his voice low, uncertain. For the first time in Nazarick, the skeleton looked less like a lazy trickster and more like someone crushed beneath the weight of command.
Sans' grin was gone now, his gaze fixed on the floor of the chamber, shadows crawling faintly at his feet. His voice came out slow, but firm.
"…nah. that doesn't sound right." He looked up, one glowing pupil flickering as he locked eyes with Albedo. "shalltear's a lot of things—crazy, bloodthirsty, kinda scary—but betraying nazarick? no way. there's gotta be a mistake."
Albedo's wings twitched, her expression twisting in irritation. "Do you dare question the word of Lord Ainz?" she hissed, her voice sharp enough to cut stone. "Shalltear has raised her blade against her master. What more proof do you require?"
Sans didn't flinch, though the weight of her words pressed down like a mountain. "…listen, lady, i don't care how it looks. i can tell you this much—shalltear ain't the type to stab Boss in the back. not on her own. if she's fightin', then something's messing with her." His tone, though calm, carried an uncharacteristic steel.
The chamber went silent for a moment. Albedo narrowed her eyes, lips parting as if to retort, but the intensity in Sans' empty sockets made her hesitate.
"…you think this is some outside influence?" she finally asked, her suspicion tempered with the tiniest sliver of doubt.
Sans shrugged, his usual lazy smile tugging faintly at his face, but his voice betrayed no humor. "…what i know is that family don't turn on family that easy. and like it or not, she's family."
♦ ♦ ♦
Sans' grin was gone now, his gaze fixed on the floor of the chamber, shadows crawling faintly at his feet. His voice came out slow, but firm.
"…nah. that doesn't sound right." He looked up, one glowing pupil flickering as he locked eyes with Albedo. "shalltear's a lot of things—crazy, bloodthirsty, kinda scary—but betraying nazarick? no way. there's gotta be a mistake."
Albedo's wings twitched, her expression twisting in irritation. "Do you dare question the word of Lord Ainz?" she hissed, her voice sharp enough to cut stone. "Shalltear has raised her blade against her master. What more proof do you require?"
Sans didn't flinch, though the weight of her words pressed down like a mountain. "…listen, lady, i don't care how it looks. i can tell you this much—shalltear ain't the type to stab ainz in the back. not on her own. if she's fightin', then something's messing with her." His tone, though calm, carried an uncharacteristic steel.
The chamber went silent for a moment. Albedo narrowed her eyes, lips parting as if to retort, but the intensity in Sans' empty sockets made her hesitate.
"…you think this is some outside influence?" she finally asked, her suspicion tempered with the tiniest sliver of doubt.
Sans shrugged, his usual lazy smile tugging faintly at his face, but his voice betrayed no humor. "…what i know is that family don't turn on family that easy. and like it or not, she's family."
He tilted his skull slightly, the faint glow in his eye dimming. "…does the boss know yet?"
Albedo's wings twitched again, folding tight against her back. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she answered. "…not yet."
Sans leaned back against the cold wall of the chamber, his grin long gone. The weight pressing down on him wasn't Albedo's anger anymore—it was something heavier. His sockets drifted toward the ground, and for once he looked small in the vastness of Nazarick's halls.
"…man…" he muttered under his breath, voice flat. "…shalltear, really? you, of all people?"
The thought gnawed at him. He'd seen her bloodlust, sure, but betrayal? That wasn't her. Still, the image kept creeping back—her blade raised against Ainz, crimson eyes that weren't her own.
A chill slithered through him, not from outside but from the shadow pooling at his feet. The whisper came, low and wet, like something melting into his ear.
"Do not fool yourself… traitors must be cut down."
Sans' pupils flickered, his jaw tightening.
"She raised her weapon against the Supreme One. That is unforgivable. You know it. I know it." The shadow shifted, forming the vague outline of a melting skull. "With me, you are not weak. With me, you can end her. Together, Shalltear will fall easily."
Sans' breath came out sharp through his teeth. His hands stayed buried in his hoodie pocket, but the air around him warped with faint, invisible cracks—like the beginnings of a Gaster Blaster forming on instinct.
"…shut up," he muttered, though the words lacked conviction. "…it ain't that simple."
The shadow chuckled, a sound like bones snapping underwater. "Simple or not… betrayal demands blood."